


A People Pet

by Gammarus



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, Master/Pet, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Roleplay, Simon Snow Doesn't Have Wings or a Tail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23816869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gammarus/pseuds/Gammarus
Summary: Simon FINALLY got Baz to bite him and it's left Baz in a bit of a funk, so Simon tries some sexual healing.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	A People Pet

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20433845) by [SHARKMARTINI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHARKMARTINI/pseuds/SHARKMARTINI). 



> For Sexy Sentence Saturday, the lovely @sharkmartini posted a snippet of an unfinished companion piece to her wonderful fic Pet:
> 
> “'Come here,' I tug the chain and he stumbles as he starts getting up and coming towards me. 'No, pet. On your knees.'
> 
> He's breathing heavily as he crawls towards me. I don't think I've ever been harder."
> 
> She said she didn't think she'd be finishing it any time soon, and graciously gave me permission to use it as a prompt. I've written this as a sequel to Pet.
> 
> If you like this, you should also read Hungry Like The Wolf by @AcrimoniousGoat and @Adamarks. It's quite different than this but pushes some of the same buttons.

**Simon**

I loved what we did last Saturday night. It completed something, and it blew my mind all the way. But it's been bothering Baz, and I hate that.

I put my arms around him. “You're fretting.”

“Fretting? That's one way to put it. Repulsed by myself would be another. I _bit_ you. I _used_ you.”

“It's not using if I ask you for it. It felt good – it felt wonderful. And I thought it felt good to you too.”

“It felt wonderful while we were doing it. And sometimes I can see it like you seem to. If it's a bright sunny morning and I've got a nice cup of tea it was something fun we did. But at 2 am or on a long rainy afternoon it makes me a monster.”

I knew that was there. I knew he was feeling that, even before he bit me. I wanted to take that and make it clean and pure and a happy part of him and us by bringing it into our bed. But he has felt so terrible about this for so long that it's going to take more than one romp, happy boyfriends rolling around, to make it better. I put my hands on his shoulders and turn him so that he's facing me. I put my hands in his hair and lift his face towards mine and touch foreheads with him..

“It was more than fun, it was beautiful. I love you. I belong to you in every way that I can, and I love that we made that real.” I try to look him in the eye as I say this very true thing, but he looks down and makes a little noise that's roughly one part affection and four parts disagreement.

I continue. “And you know what else? I think you belong to me, too. Don't you?”

He closes his eyes, like it hurts him to say it. “Crowley, you know I do. I have for so long. Since long before you ever knew it.”

I pull him to me. “And I want to make that real, too,” I whisper in his ear.

He turns to look me in the eye. “Tell me more.”

I've been thinking about this for a while. Since Saturday at least. Probably longer. I think it may exorcise some of his demons. And I think it's going to be a hell of a lot of fun.

“Let me tell you about people pets.”

**Baz**

Crowley. This role play idea of Simon's sounds frankly idiotic. But I would cross any line for him. Also, despite how ridiculous I feel about the whole thing, it's got my prick damn hard. He explained the rules to me and went out shopping and left me to get ready (and to wonder, with some trepidation, what supplies he is buying).

_Some people do animal play, like puppy play or pony play. This isn't that. You're a person – and you're my pet. A people pet._

Apparently people pets don't wear clothing, and they can only get on the furniture if they have permission. So I undress, slowly and thoughtfully. I put my clothing in the hamper, my shoes on their rack, roll up my belt and put it in its drawer. I'm completely naked. I take a couple of pulls at my prick and let out an embarrassing noise.

People pets don't stand or walk on their hind legs, so I suppose I should be crawling already, but I'm not going to do that all alone in our flat. I walk to the living room and sit on the floor by the sofa and wait for my “owner”. I'd like to read a book or listen to some music, but of course people pets don't do those things either. All I can do is sit here and wait for him, my cock stiff as a board and leaking on the floor.

Well, I started out stiff and dripping. The waiting is dull. I don't want to be caught with a book or even pacing upright, and I'm damned if I'll “pace” on all fours. I put my hands on the floor and flop my head down on them and wait, sprawled on my side with my knees bent. I must actually doze off a bit because I'm startled awake by his key in the lock.

**Simon**

I'm dressed a little better than my usual t-shirt and trackie bottoms. On Baz this would be casual, but on me a button-up and trousers is practically a suit. I want to emphasize our difference in status. I changed at the store after I paid, and I have my old clothes in the bags with my other purchases. I stop in front of our door for just a moment to gather my thoughts. Then I take a deep breath and put my key in the lock.

He's a beautiful sight, sprawled naked on the floor by the sofa. He jerks awake as I open the door and come in, closing it quickly to preserve our privacy. He's still rousing, lifting his head and blinking, as I come over and put my packages down on the sofa. “Good boy!” I say. “Did you miss me?” He opens his mouth and seems about to say something so I bring his chin up with two fingers. “Now, now. You know people pets don't talk.”

He makes a discontented noise as I sit down next to the packages. I pull his head to my knee and he leans into it as I ruffle his hair. “Good boy,” I repeat. I take out the collar I bought and fasten it around his neck. He's looking down at his hands. I'm really loving this, but I need to know he's all right. “Is this okay, pet? Nod or shake your head.” He nods without looking up. “Good.” I bury my nose in his hair for a minute, plant a kiss, and pet his head and upper back. He gives a little contented hum and relaxes against my knee. Good.

I clip on the lead and put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay.” I pick up the bag from the restaurant and walk to the dining table. I put the bag down. “Come here,” I tug the chain and he stumbles as he starts getting up and coming towards me. “No, pet. On your knees.”

He's breathing heavily as he crawls towards me. I don't think I've ever been harder. “Sit.” He settles on his haunches. “Stay.” I tie the lead to the leg of the table, walk to the sofa to grab a couple more bags, then head to the kitchen. I gather up china, cutlery, a napkin, and go set myself a place at the head of the table, right next to where he sits on the floor, tied to the furniture. He nuzzles my leg and I pat his head absently.

Another trip to the kitchen. I open another bag and bring out two stainless steel pet bowls, one larger than the other. They're the classic dog's dish shape, wide at the base for stability and narrowing towards the top, with a nice rounded edge so my pet won't hurt his face or tongue. He deserves the best, after all. I wrap them in a cloth so he won't see them right away, then bring them to the table along with a wine glass, bottle, and corkscrew. He rubs up against my leg whenever I step close enough to him.

I busy myself plating our dinner – takeout from our favourite neighborhood Italian restaurant. Veal marsala for me – it's one of his favourites; they do it very well there – and gnocchi al pesto for him. He'll eat it, but I know he'd rather have the veal. I open the wine and pour – into a glass for me and the small bowl for him.

I take the wrappings into the kitchen and toss them; he whines and tries to follow me but is brought up short by his lead. That is really hot. Since he can't see me, I palm briefly at the front of my trousers while I'm in the kitchen.

I come back and set his bowls on the floor in front of him. He snaps his head up and glares at me, shocked. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again before I have to reach for his chin. I'm proud of him for following the rules. “Good pet, good boy,” I coo at him, stroking his hair. “Eat your dinner, pet.” I was proud of him just now, but I almost hope he'll mess this bit up.

Yes! He starts to pick up one of the gnocchi. I jerk sharply at the lead. “No fingers! Here, let me make this easier for you.” I fetch the last two items from the sofa. I pick up his right hand and slide a sock on it. “Make a fist, pet.” I take the duct tape and wrap it all around his fist over the sock, narrowing down at his wrist so he can't slide it off. “Other one, pet.”

Now he's given up his power of speech and lost the use of his clever fingers. It's got to be driving him nuts. He tries to maneuver his bowl of wine between his bound fists, so I jerk his lead again. “Your bowls stay on the floor. Eat up like a good boy.” He growls a little but lowers his face to the bowl of wine and laps some up.

“Good boy!” I coo. I cut off a piece of veal and hold it down near his face. “Want some, pet?” He gobbles it eagerly and licks my fingers clean. I stroke his cheek and go back to my meal. He noses at my leg; I know he wants more veal. “Your dinner's down there, pet. Eat up.”

He _whines_ and I shift in my seat as my cock swells harder. He sets his elbows and forearms on the floor, drops his head down sullenly, and starts to eat gnocchi with his face in his dish. I shift again, hum happily, and continue with my dinner.

He finishes his meal by noisily sucking up the rest of his wine. When I'm done my leisurely dining, I take my napkin and gently clean his face. I know he'd hate to have his face left messy and, while that's a temptation, it might take something away from what he'll be doing next. I untie his lead from the table leg and use it to walk him to the sofa.

I sit and pat the seat next to me. He remembers to crawl up instead of standing, so I ruffle his his hair and make kiss noises on his forehead. “Good boy.” He curls up with his head on my lap and I play gently with his hair with my left hand while I pick up the tv remote in my right. I put on the Bakeoff with the sound way down – I don't think anyone needs to hear a Paul Hollywood critique while they're playing sex games. I continue to toy with his hair and ghost my fingers over his face and shoulders while I watch.

I reach down to his chest and pinch and twist his nipple. He starts to pant and nose at my crotch. Impossibly, I get harder. I slide my arse forward and spread my legs to give him better access. I'm making moans and groans of pleasure and I thrust up at his face without thinking about it.

He groans and I open my flies. His noises and efforts redouble. He's pressing his face against the mound in my pants, rubbing it back and forth, snuffling at the huge wet spot, and whining in frustration. I reach for the elastic waistband. “Something you want, pet? Hmm?”

He's panting and keening as I lift the waistband up and over my dripping crown and then slide it down my thighs. Normally he gives me practiced blowjobs, luxuriating in my tastes and textures, darting his tongue here and there, licking skillfully, taking me deep in his throat. But tonight he's a pet, not a lover, and he licks sloppily and wildly, rubbing his face around in my crotch.

I wrap the lead around my hand so I can feel every pull and tug. His noises and his enthusiasm and his tongue are all very arousing, but it's not quite enough to put me over the edge, so I unbutton my shirt and add my other hand to his tongue and soon I'm shooting up onto my belly, grunting with satisfaction. He knows what to do and starts licking me clean without being told, so I praise and pet him while he gets every drop.

“Good boy! It's your turn, pet. Slide over.” I push him gently towards the other end of the sofa. I pull up and refasten my pants and trousers, then lay a soft towel over my thighs. I move towards him and guide him to lie with his crotch on my lap. “Go ahead, pet, hump my legs.”

He whines and grinds and writhes as I keep a gentle tension on his lead. It's the first stimulation of any kind that his prick has gotten in a long evening of excitement and soon he's rutting hard. I continue to coo and praise him, running my free hand all over his head and back and squeezing his arse. I give him a couple of gentle swats and suddenly he's moaning and tensing and shooting into the towel. I praise him lavishly and pet him as he quiets. Then I get the safety scissors I left by the couch and cut his hands free of the duct-taped socks.

I remove the collar and draw him up to sit on the couch human-style, wrapping him in a throw. I kiss him on the lips, a sign that he is free to stop being a pet and be my partner again. I brush his hair back from his sweaty face, caress his cheek, and look him in the eyes. “I love you Baz, and I love how powerful I felt being your owner for a while. Thank you for playing with me.” He wraps his arms around me and hums gently, fitting his face into the crook of my neck. I think he's not quite ready to be verbal again yet, which suggests that this worked for him too. I bury my face in his hair and breathe in the aroma of spunk and sweat. “I love you,” I repeat, and close my eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fantasy, not an instruction manual. If you decide to play this way yourself, please do some research beforehand and play safely with regard to everyone's physical and emotional well-being. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
